


Blood in the Cut

by ladyreapermc



Series: Keanu ficfest! [4]
Category: John Wick (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-02
Updated: 2019-10-02
Packaged: 2020-11-15 08:21:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20863145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ladyreapermc/pseuds/ladyreapermc
Summary: Follow up for Too Sober Enough Sass. You arrive home to find that a wounded John Wick has broken into your apartment in search for help.





	Blood in the Cut

**Author's Note:**

> This was actually the first request I ever received but I got stuck. Then I wrote Too Sober Enough Sass and it unblocked me, so here it is. Based on the prompt #6 from drabble challenge (I need a place to stay). It’s a direct sequel to Too Sober Enough Sass, but you don’t have to read the other one to follow the story. Just know that this is canon divergent, set around 2008/2009 and John never met Helen.

You were pretty exhausted when you dragged yourself home after your shift at the café. It wasn’t often that you had to close it, but your manager had a family emergency so you offered to do it.

Strangely enough, you really enjoyed working there. It was certainly a huge pay cut from your job at Wolfram & Hart, but you were pretty sure no one would put a hit on your head for messing up their coffee order. Something you were doing less often since you started working there nine months ago.

At first, you tried to find another job in accounting. You even got offers from a couple of companies, but the thought of being back at a stuffy office, staring at piles of paperwork made your chest heavy with anxiety and dread.

Nothing like having a contract on your life to make you reevaluate the entire thing.

It made you question if you really wanted to spend the rest of your life stuck with the pathetic safe choice you made back in college because you thought you could never make money with your art.

So you said no to the offers, choosing instead to take the minimum wage job at the café and buy all the art supplies you needed to go back to drawing. So far you haven’t regretted it, even if it meant arriving home, feet and back aching from standing all day.

Nothing that a good bath and a nice timeout at your favorite armchair couldn’t fix. Which was exactly what you were planning to do when you walked in, but as soon as you stepped inside the apartment before you could even turn on the lights, you knew something was off.

The room was colder than usual, and you could hear the sound of curtains flapping with the night breeze. You didn’t leave windows open anymore. Not since someone tried to kill you. So you dug through your bag, finding the pepper spray you started to carry with you and turned on the lights.

“I know you’re there. Show yourself.”

“You have an intruder in your house, you run. You don’t challenge him.”

You nearly jumped out of your skin at the sudden, but familiar voice. A voice you thought you’d never hear it again. You looked over to your bedroom door and saw John moving slowly toward you, hand clenching his side.

He still looked pretty much the same as you remembered, but his hair was longer, framing his face in messy waves, curling at the ends by his nape. His beard was overgrown and a little unkempt and there were bruises on his face and a bleeding cut on his brow.

You also noticed that the left side of his white dress shirt was ripped and stained with red and you couldn’t help the gasp that left your mouth.

“Shit! What happened to you?”

“Doesn’t matter,” he said, leaning against the arm of your couch. “I need a place to stay.”

“What about that hotel?” you asked more out of curiosity than anything because you were already closing and locking the front door and moving towards him.

“They’ll be expecting me there,” he replied, grunting a little as he adjusted his position, blood dripping on the carpet into an ever-growing stain. “Do you have a suture kit?”

“Sure, I keep it right beside my defibrillator,” you said snidely, unable to stop yourself and John just snorted, his lips twitching into a smile.

“Sewing kit will do too.”

“Yeah.” you nodded. “Just go wait in the bathroom before you make me lose my deposit.”

You dug through your hallway closet for the sewing kit your mother gave you when you first moved away from home. You knew you still had it, even if you never used it.

You finally found it at the bottom of a drawer in your study and hurried to the bathroom, freezing by the door at the sight of John’s naked back and the elaborated artwork marked on his skin.

It took you another moment to register the patchwork of old scars and bruises in different degrees of healing and you wondered who exactly was this man you let back into your life.

“You have it?” he asked, turning to face you and you nodded, settling the box on the sink counter. “Good, I’ll talk you through it.”

“Wait, what?” You could feel how wide your eyes were and you were pretty sure you were gaping.

“I can’t do it myself.”

John dropped his hand from his side so you could see the three inches long deep gash running from his side to his back in an angle his left hand would have trouble reaching.

“Don’t worry, it’s pretty much the same as doing to fabric, just a little tougher.”

“Do I look like someone who sews, John?” you snapped, panic making you a little rude without meaning to, but he seemed unfazed.

“You’ll do fine,” he assured and took a seat on the covered toilet. “Clean and thread the needle so we can start.”

With shaky hands, you obeyed, before kneeling before John. He gestured to the bottle of disinfectant and you handed it to him.

You couldn’t help but flinch when he dozed the gash with it. You’d be screaming at it, but John just clenched his teeth before drying the wound with a towel.

“You’re gonna have to press the two edges together as close as you can.”

You swallowed the lump of panic in your throat and nodded, forcing your hands to stop shaking as you pinched the wound and pushed the needle through his skin, the sound of his pained hiss so loud in the quiet bathroom.

It felt like it took forever, but you finally reached the end of the wound and blindly grabbed for the scissors to cut the thread after you knotted it. Your hands were stained with blood, but surprisingly steady considering what you just did.

“Thank you,” John said glancing at your handy work. “Could’ve done with another thread color, though.”

And for the first time, you noticed you had done his stitches in pink thread.

The bubble of laughter that escaped your lips startled you but it did help to break the tense air that had settled between the two of you because eve John cracked a smile.

“I think I have some Hello Kitty band-aids if you wanted to make it a theme,” you commented, gesturing at the bandaged cut in his forehead.

“I’m good, thanks,” he replied as you covered his stitches with a bandage. “But I’d take whiskey if you have it.”

“I have vodka.”

“Even better.”

John followed you back to the kitchen completely shirtless and you had to fight not to stare at the strong chest or the white horizontal scar running from the end of his sternum to his belly button. So you focused on retrieving the bottle of vodka from the freezer and pouring it in two glasses.

He downed his drink in one go, while you were still completing your glass with orange juice. You raised your eyebrows at him when John refilled his glass and swallowed the drink all at once again.

“Pain management,” he said and you snorted, sipping your own drink.

There was a long moment of silence as the two of you stood on opposite sides of your kitchen counter, looking at each other. The air felt almost thick as you stared at his intense brown eyes and watched his throat work as he drank his third glass, this time a lot slower.

“John…” you trailed off when he shook his head and turned his back on you.

“Don’t ask. This isn’t something you should get involved in.”

“A little late for that, don’t you think?” you said, gesturing at how at home he seemed to be on your apartment and John just chuckled.

“I guess you have a point,” he stared down in his glass, before looking up at you again. “Tomorrow. I promise.”

“Ok.”

You moved once again to the hallway closet to take out a pillow and a blanket, setting them on the couch, before taking a step toward your bedroom.

John caught your hand and you turned to face him.

“Thank you.” His entire face softened when he said the words and suddenly he looked so much younger and almost… vulnerable.

The lump on your throat made it impossible for you to say a word, so you just nodded and squeezed his hand.

You two stayed like that, gaze locked together and how was it possible for someone to steal your breath like this by just looking at you?

Your eyes fell to his lips as your senses flooded by the memory of the kiss you two shared all those months ago and all you wanted was to repeat the experience.

“Goodnight,” John finally said, clearing his throat and letting go of you.

“‘Night,” you managed, all but bolting to your room.

You took a deep breath to recompose yourself before going about your usual night routine despite being acutely aware of John’s presence only a few feet away from you.

As you gathered the discarded clothes he left in your bathroom, you noticed the holster and pair of pistols lying on your counter and hesitated.

You had never touched a gun in your life. Not even a fake one and here you were, staring at two contemplating on what to do.

The knock on the door made you jump, realizing how on edge you were with John in your apartment. It wasn’t that you were afraid of him – though maybe you should be. It was more like you were scared at the prospect of glancing into his world.

“I’m sorry about the mess,” John said standing behind you.

“You had other things to worry about.”

John just nodded as he stepped inside the bathroom to gather his guns and clothes, before starting to move back to the living room.

“Wait.”

He paused, looking at you with a questioning look and you glanced around, chewing the inside of your cheek as you considered if you were really about to offer what you were planning to offer.

“You can stay,” you said, fidgeting with the edge of your sleeping shirt. “I mean, I know how uncomfortable my couch is. And small.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” John replied, avoiding your gaze. Was it you or did he seem regretful?

“John, come on. It’s a queen-size, I think we can manage,” you said with an eye-roll as you moved to your usual side of the bed, turning off the lights.

The streetlights filtering through allowed you to watch as he deliberated before letting out a long sigh. John dropped his things on your armchair by the window, picking up one of his pistols and bringing it along with him as he settled in bed beside you.

“Do you always sleep with a gun around?” you asked, turning to look at him as he slid the pistol under the pillow.

“Only when I have to,” he replied as he turned towards you too.

You two were so close, you could actually smell the vodka in his breath and the lingering coppery scent, mixed with the sweat on his skin. You could feel the heat radiating from his body, making the bed warmer than usual.

Your fingers itched to touch his skin which looked pale and soft in the darkness of the room. His features just sharp edges that you really want to kiss…

Shit! John was right, this was a bad idea and you should turn away right now and force yourself to sleep, but he was so close and so tempting.

John made the decision for you when his hand moved to cup your cheek as he leaned closer and brushed his lips against yours.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” he whispered as he pulled away from you.

“Probably not.”

You chased his lips and deepened the kiss, your tongue pressing inside his very willing mouth. The hand on your cheek moved to your nape, pulling you even closer until you were pressed against John, hands pinned against his chest. His thigh found its way between yours, pressing up against your cunt and you gasped.

“Because this is an awful, terrible, bad idea,” you mumbled as John kissed down your jaw and neck.

He hummed in agreement, nipping at your tendon and you felt that familiar coil in the pit of your stomach, wetness spread between your legs, soaking your sleeping shorts.

“I don’t even know you.”

“Exactly,” he breathed out against the hollow of your throat, beard tickling your skin. “And I brought you nothing but trouble.”

“Dangerous trouble,” you agreed, tilting your head back to give John more access as you rocked against his thigh, your hand moving to his back blindingly tracing his tattoos.

He gently pushed you until you were lying on your back and he was hovering over you, his hair falling around his face like a curtain. John found your mouth again, giving it a teasing lick and sucking on your lower lip. His hand snaked into your shorts, his long fingers exploring your wet folds and your body didn’t seem to know if it wanted to spread your knees wider or press your thighs closed together.

And he must had noticed because he used his knee to keep your legs open as he started to tease your clit with slow, circular motions of his thumb while two of his fingers pressed inside you, fucking you slowly, but picking up speed as your moans started to get a little more desperate with the waves of pleasure building up inside you.

You struggled to shove your shorts down without dislodging his hand and John chuckled against your cheek, especially at the low whine of disappointment when he moved his fingers and helped you take the shorts all the away off.

You pulled off your shirt too, before reaching for the button of his pants, undoing it with shaky fingers and John chuckled again above you. You squeezed him through the fabric, turning his laughter into a drawn-out groan.

His gaze met yours, dark and intense as he shoved his pants and underwear off and crawled on top of you, catching your mouth in a hungry kiss that had you arching your hips up, searching for any kind of release to the tension building inside you.

“Condoms?” John asked against your mouth.

You broke away long enough to dig through your bedside table drawer, retrieving the foil package and turning to him, one hand on the center of his chest, pushing at the solid muscles.

“Sit back, against the headboard,” you told him and John’s lips drawn in a smirk.

“You’re bossy.”

“You’re complaining?”

John shook his head, obeying to your command and you took a moment to watch him as he stroked himself, looking at you with hooded eyes. You got up on your knees and handed him the condom, waiting until he put it on to climb on his lap.

He kissed you as he lined himself and pushed inside you, making you both groan against each other’s mouth. You dug your nails on his shoulders at the sweet burn of him stretching and filling you up. It had been a while for you.

John waited until you adjusted to him to rock his hips up, making you throw your head back and moan before you recovered your control and focused on him again.

“Wait, wait…”

“Shit. Am I hurting you?” he asked, panic bleeding into his voice and you shook your head.

“No, no,” you smiled at him, caressing his cheek. “I just don’t want you to bust your stitches, so stay still.”

“Yes, ma’am,” John said with another smirk.

Those words shouldn’t turn you on so much, but they sent a shooting thrill down your spine and you to started to bounce on his cock, holding on his shoulders for support. John grunted with each downward motion, his hands kneading your asscheeks.

He mouthed and sucked at your breasts and you knew you were going to have bruises all over them tomorrow, but you couldn’t care less.

Not when you could barely keep your rhythm as your pleasure made your legs feel weak and shaky. You grabbed at John’s hair, pulling his head back so you could attack his mouth. The kiss sloppy as your tongue slid with his.

You felt one of his hands move away from your back and he pulled away from your mouth long enough to suck his thumb before rubbing it against your clit. You gasped at the added stimulation.

“Fuck the stitches. Move!” You ordered, replacing his hand on your clit with one of yours.

John grinned, both hands returning to your ass as he met your movements with sharp thrusts of his hips. You held onto his shoulders, cursing and moaning against his cheek, feeling your entire body freezing in ecstasy as you came, clenching around John.

He hugged you tight against his body as he fucked you through your orgasm until he came too, muffling his groans against your shoulder.

You stayed wrapped around each other, catching your breath until you felt John kiss your neck softly and tapped you hip gently.

“Let me get up so I won’t make a mess on your bed.”

You giggled and kissed his temple, before rolling to the side and lying on your back, body flooded with pleasure, making you feel light and giddy.

“Stitches held,” John announced, returning to bed with a warm washcloth.

“You didn’t have to do that,” you said as he gently cleaned your thighs.

“You took care of me. Let me take care of you,” he replied kissing you belly and making you giggle. You actually appreciated not have to get up.

You were already dozing off when John climbed on the bed again and you just turned towards him and cuddling against his side. You felt him tense and looked up at him.

“Want me to let go?”

“No, Don’t. Stay.” John breathed out, pulling you even tighter against his side as the two of you drifted off to sleep.

When you woke up next morning and the bed was empty, you felt a bolt of panic that made you sit up and look around, but you relaxed when the scents and noises of breakfast being made reached you.

You checked your alarm clock, noticing you still had some time before it went off, but feeling too awake to try and go back to sleep, so you stood up, grinning at the pleasant ache between your legs as you put on your PJs again and padded barefoot to the kitchen.

“Did I wake you?” he asked as he pilled a plate with scrambled eggs and bacon.

You shook your head, moving to the coffee machine to fill your mug, before taking a seat at the dining table just as John set down the plates and food, sitting down across from you with his own mug.

“I guess I own you an explanation,” John said with a sigh.

You almost stopped him, because this was nice and comfortable and you could almost forget that he broke into your house with a huge wound on his side that you had to stitch up, while on hiding from God knows who.

But in the end, you didn’t stop him. You let John tell his tale. About the Ruska Roma and the marines and Marcus and the High Table and being built to hunt and kill.

While he spoke, you couldn’t bring yourself to touch your food and now that he was over, you felt nauseous as if you had swallowed a spoon full of lead and you pushed it away from you along with your cold cup of coffee.

“So you kill people for a living,” you said and John looked away as he nodded. “You’re an assassin. That’s a real thing. Fuck.”

You stood up and paced, rubbing your face with both hands and trying to calm your speeding brain. Shit! You sure knew how to pick them.

“The people you kill…” you trailed off, turning to face him.

“There are no good people in my world. If they’ve got a contract on their head, they probably deserved it.”

“I had a contract,” you pointed out, crossing your arms over your chest. “Did I deserve it?”

“Of course not,” John replied and there was an urgency in his voice. He stood up and reached for you and you couldn’t help but flinch.

He took a step back, raising his hands as if in surrender and you could see the hurt and regret in his eyes. It only lasted for a split second. It was almost like watching a wall being raised. John’s eyes turned an empty pool of dark that sent shivers down your spine.

“It was a mistake coming here and I’m sorry.”

You watched him move, disappear inside your bedroom and you wanted to go after him, bring that wall down, but you felt frozen, shock and fear keeping you rooted on your spot.

Way too soon, John reappeared, completed dressed back on his suit, hair brushed back, holsters peeking from beneath his jacket. He paused in front of you and there was so much pain in his eyes that you wanted to hold him.

“Thank you.”

He pressed a soft, tender kiss on your cheek and before you could force yourself to move and do something, say something, John was gone again.

xxx


End file.
